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Of the death of the late county of Penbroke.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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Of the death of the late county of Penbroke.

Yet once againe my muse I pardon pray,
Thine intermitted song if I repete:
Not in such wise as when loue was my pay,
My ioly wo with ioyfull verse to treat.
But now (vnthanke to our desert be geuen,
Which merite not a heauens gift to kepe)
Thou must with me bewaile that fate hath reuen,
From earth a iewell laied in earth to slepe.
A iewell, yea gemme of womanhed,
Whose perfect vertues linked as in chaine:
So did adorne that humble wiuelyhed,
As is not rife to finde the like againe.
For wit and learnyng framed to obey,
Her husbandes will that willed her to vse
The loue he bare her chiefely as a staye,
For all her frendes that would her furtherance chuse.
Well sayd therfore a heauens gift she was,
Because the best are sonest hence bereft:
And though her selfe to heauen hence did passe,
Her spoyle to earth from whence it came she left.
And to vs teares her absence to lament,
And eke his chance that was her make by lawe:
Whose losse to lose so great an ornament,
Let them esteme which true loues knot can draw.